


thankful for you

by lilibug



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Jughead loves pie, No Angst, Oneshot, Sweet, Thanksgiving, Thanksgiving Dinner, Turkey makes Betty Sleepy, bughead - Freeform, holiday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-08 00:07:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12852459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilibug/pseuds/lilibug
Summary: Jughead had never had a real Thanksgiving before. So, being invited to the Cooper's was a special thing. He wasn't quite sure what to expect but he was willing to figure it out, even if it meant cooking all day with his girlfriend under the watchful eye of Alice.





	thankful for you

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a belated Thanksgiving fic (just a bit!) about Jughead being invited to the Cooper's. I saw a post on tumblr (okay, who is suprised by that?) that had some cute little thougts and I ran with it. 
> 
> Thanks to [@strix](https://strix.tumblr.com) for being my beta, without her your eyes would burn. 
> 
> This fic is set a year after current events, ignoring everything past Fred's shooting — the police manage to find his shooter before it escalates.

Jughead had never had a real Thanksgiving before.

His parents (back when they were still together) had never been put together enough to prepare an actual celebratory meal. The one time they had tried to make something resembling a Thanksgiving dinner, it had turned into a disaster.

Gladys had never been much of a cook, FP was actually better of the two. But she was trying, at least — Jughead thought sadly. She had forgotten to let the turkey thaw though, not realizing it had been frozen like a rock before trying to cook it. The stuffing (yeah, the stove top kind) got burnt, the mashed potatoes tasted like the plastic container they came in, the green beans were still crunchy. The pumpkin pie Gladys had bought didn’t even see the table, it had gotten knocked off the counter during his parents screaming match.

He hated when his parents argued in front of his sister.

FP had stormed out the house, Jughead could still hear the slam of the screen door rattling the woodwork, leaving his mother to head back to her bedroom with tears in her eyes. They were each going to retreat to their own vices — drinking and chain smoking, respectively.

Jughead had looked at the small kitchen, a mess with pots and pans, then to his sister — JB had been only five-years-old at the time — and sighed. He made them peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with wonder bread, and they watched the re-run of the Thanksgiving day parade.

Later, when it was just him and FP at the trailer they ate frozen tv dinners with slices of turkey, that were basically lunch meat, covered in syrupy gravy. Last year at Thanksgiving he was still in between places — Archie’s, the trailer, the school, his foster parents. He was floating adrift with nothing to ground him.

So to be invited to the Cooper’s Thanksgiving this year, was making him nervous.

Of course, he had been to their house a thousand times, was familiar with Alice and Hal — but something about spending the holiday with them, felt special.

He didn’t want to mess this up.

When Betty had turned to him last week in the Blue and Gold office, Jughead was momentarily struck by how beautiful she was.

Her hair was up in a bun that day, not her typical curly ponytail. The sun was streaming in through the window, beams of light scattering perfectly through the waves of her golden hair. _The Brightness of her cheek would shame those stars as daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven would through the airy region stream so bright that birds would sing, and think it were not night_.

Jughead found Shakespeare to be quite inspiring. Somewhat begrudgingly, he admitted, if only to himself, he might be a romantic, after all.

Green eyes were sparkling at him and he realized her perfectly pink lips were moving — speaking.

“— to make them, so you’ll come over early, right?”

“Of course, Betts,” it didn’t really matter what he was agreeing to at this point, he would go anywhere with (and for) Betty Cooper.

“Great! Mom will be so excited. She has been wanting to teach me her pumpkin pie recipe for a while, and I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to have someone else to show, too.”

He couldn’t be sure, but he was about 95% positive he had just agreed to learn how to make a pumpkin pie with Alice Cooper. The thought simultaneously scared and made him extremely happy.

“Yeah, it’ll be... fun,” he grabbed her hand where it was tapping against the top of her laptop. Jughead squeezed gently, lacing their fingers together. The warmth of her smile making his stomach flip delightfully.

“I think it will. Cooking always takes all day, but it’ll worth it when we sit down to eat. Oh Juggie, you’re going to love my cranberry relish.”

The way her eyes lit up when she talked about the dishes they would be having made him want to smile. He could feel his stomach threatening to growl at her detailing the food.

“You don’t have to tease me Betty,” he said coyly, tilting his head and dropping her hand to start working on his article again.

“Juggie,” she chastised, her tongue clicking against the roof of her mouth, smile widening. “Just wait till you see the other dessert choices.”

He had _choices_?

 _Am I in earth, in heaven, or in hell? Sleeping or waking? Mad or well-advised?_ … Maybe he needed to stop reading Shakespeare so late at night.

Jughead had never been to a real Thanksgiving before, but he was glad he had a chance now.

“You’re going to kill me.”

Betty laughed at him, her pretty pink lips turning up into a wider smile. “That is inherently audacious, Juggie.”

.

.

.

Running his hand through his hair, Jughead pulled his beanie on. He looked at himself in the mirror, running his fingers over the edge of his jaw. He had started shaving recently, despite the serious lack of stubble he had. He leaned back satisfied, dropping his hands to the edge of the sink. Dressed in a dark green cable knit sweater and his best pair of jeans, he thought he looked okay. He would forgo the suspenders and flannel today, but couldn’t lose the beanie around Betty’s family just yet.

Blue eyes glanced down to his phone resting on the sink, a message from Betty popping up. He was reminded of the time then, a quarter to ten. Jughead replied to Betty, letting her know he was leaving.

He took one more look in the mirror before turning and heading out of the trailer, sliding his boots on and grabbing his denim jacket.

The air was chilly, but the sun was already shining brightly and casting a pleasant glow of warmth over the town of Riverdale. The layer of silvery, sparkly frost on the grass crunched under Jughead’s combat boots as he walked toward his motorcycle.

His father had all but given it to him last year after everything that had happened with the Jason Blossom murder case, FP’s arrest, and Fred getting shot. Jughead needed a reliable way to get around and learning to ride his dad’s motorcycle had been easier than the truck at the time.

Now, with things back to some semblance of (semi) normal, it had gone unspoken that he would continue riding the bike. Jughead kind of liked it, to be honest, so he didn’t mind.

His favorite part of having the motorcycle was when Betty would ride with him — her arms encircled his waist tightly, her chest pressed against his back, her thighs cradling his. Jughead loved her little intakes of breath against his neck whenever they turned a corner, perhaps a little too sharply.

Pulling on the helmet he always made Betty wear, he strapped it under his chin. He swung his leg over the bike, starting it up and settling down in the seat. Looking over at the trailer, Jughead thought of FP, still asleep on the couch. He had pried the half-full beer bottle from FP’s hand and poured the rest down the sink.

Jughead’s lips were turned down into a frown and he had to shake his head to stop this from souring his mood. Today was going to be a good day.

Kicking off from the ground, Jughead enjoyed the chilly air against his face as he rode to the Cooper’s. It was a short ride, considering Riverdale wasn’t huge, about 10 minutes, before he was parking his bike in front of a big white house in a perfectly quaint neighborhood. He looked next door briefly, wondering when Archie was going to be going to Veronica’s.

He imagined the Lodge’s had someone that cooked their meal for them, so Archie probably wasn’t going to be spending all day cooking with his girlfriend, like Jughead was. But, he was actually excited for this.

Spending time with Betty was perhaps his favorite thing to do. This would be a new experience, some domesticity to their lives they hadn’t had before. A hopefully, pleasant memory with which to associate Thanksgiving with from now on.

As Jughead was walking up the sidewalk, the front door of the house opened.  

Betty was bounding through the doorway and down the steps. He barely had time to admire the soft lavender lace dress, or her bare legs before she was jumping into his outstretched arms — helmet falling from his fingers into the grass as he wrapped his arms around Betty’s waist, twirling with her in his arms.

Her face was buried in his neck, Jughead felt her warm lips and hot breath breathing fast against his skin. He tightened his arms around her waist, squeezing her to him and enjoying her warmth soaking through his wind-chilled clothes.

“Juggie, I missed you,” her quiet voice at his ear made his insides melt.

He chuckled, setting her down on her feet. Her arms looped around his neck, and he kept his about her waist. Jughead admired the delicate curl to her golden hair, her rosy cheeks, and bright smile.

“You just saw me yesterday, Betty.”

Not that he didn’t miss her, too — he did. But he liked it when she was a little cross with him. The fire in her eyes lighting his heart aflame.

She tilted her head at him, pinching the skin at the back of his neck lightly. “That was _at school_ , Jug.”

“Ah, I see where you’re going with this.”

Betty raised a brow expectantly. “You do?”

Instead of answering her he dipped his head down, capturing her lips against his. Their eyes fluttered closed, and Jughead pulled his girlfriend in closer against him. He brought one hand up to cup Betty’s cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing against her smooth skin.

Her warm lips against his own cold, chapped ones, was a pleasant thing. Jughead couldn’t help the sigh into her mouth, his hand fisting in the material of her dress at her waist. Tilting his head, he pressed his lips against Betty’s with ardent fervor, soaking in her warmth.

Her hands had slipped underneath his beanie, fingers tugging gently on his hair. Jughead licked the seam of Betty’s lips before he nipped at her bottom one. She parted her lips at his insistence, their kiss turning hot with their breath clouding the air around them.

Betty pulled back from him, leaving their foreheads pressed together. “Juggie, we have to go inside…” She murmured against his lips and he wanted to pout.

Thinking of the flash of skin he saw of her legs before they wrapped themselves around each other, and the thin material of her dress, Jughead relented.

He let Betty drag him up the stairs after one more peck to her lips, with a sullen smile. He left the helmet in the grass, thinking absently, that it would still be there later.

Once inside, Betty prompted him to remove his boots and he did. Noting that when Betty toed off her tasseled slippers that she was wearing a pair of socks with Christmas trees decorating them. He wanted to roll his eyes at his girlfriend's enthusiasm, considering the current holiday was still in process.

Of course, he already had a Christmas present picked out for Betty, but that was beside the point.

Jughead let her guide him into the kitchen after passing and greeting Hal who was in the living room, the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade on the tv.

“Mom, Jug is finally here,” Betty sounded out of breath and mostly excited, her hand squeezing his before she dropped it and walked toward the pantry.

“Good morning, Jughead. Happy Thanksgiving,” Alice had turned around from where she was washing celery at the sink, a genuine smile on her face. It made him pause, not used to seeing her like this. He gave a little wave with a flick of his wrist, digging his other hand in the pocket of his jeans. Jughead’s eyes passed over her pleated skirt and sweater, wondering how in the world his girlfriend’s mother could possibly stand and cook all day in the high heels she was currently wearing.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Mrs. Cooper.”

“Now, Jughead. How many times do I have to tell you — call me Alice, please.”

He grimaced slightly. She had most certainly told him hundreds of times.

“Mom,” Betty gave her a pointed look from where she had returned with two aprons in hand. She threw a grey one to him, which he caught with an outstretched hand, and slung a maroon one around her neck. Jughead followed suit, pulling his around his neck and tying the strings behind his waist.

Betty pulled him to the kitchen table which was all set up with bowls, flour, a rolling pin — the works.

“We’re going to do the pie crusts first, then the pumpkin filling. Mom’s going to be working on the apple pie, too.”

Shit, Alice’s apple pie? She hadn’t made that since the fourth of July. Jughead’s mouth was already watering.

“Yeah, okay. Just show me what to do, boss.”

Betty smiled at him and pushed up the sleeves of her dress, exposing slim wrists. Jughead glanced at the skin of her arms, noting that she never did seem to wear jewelry on her wrists, before doing to the same to his sweater.

“Alright, so pie crust is pretty simple. It’s just flour, salt, butter, shortening, and water. It’s in the combination that makes it good, so…”

Listening attentively to Betty, Jughead learned how to make a pie crust. It was not without staring longingly at her whenever she would go off on a tangent or story, or without pretending not to know what to do so Betty would stop and show him again. Her soft voice doling out instructions that he sometimes ignored in favor of throwing a pinch of flour at her — which ended twice in Alice telling them there would be no “canoodling" in her kitchen.

So, when they had managed to roll out four perfectly acceptable pie crusts, Alice had rewarded them with a handful of marshmallows from the bag set aside for the sweet potatoes.

Jughead shoved his all in his mouth at once (of course) while Betty chewed hers carefully, letting them melt on her tongue. He managed to sneak away a couple from her palm, her swatting his arm away not a deterrent factor in the slightest.

They watched Alice, who had cored, peeled, and sliced a bowl full of apples while they had been making the crust, mix the apples with cinnamon, brown sugar, nutmeg, a bit of salt and some flour. She then made short work of one the crusts, cutting and shaping it into a lattice work of art.

Both Jughead and Betty watched the rapt attention and suddenly Alice was looking up at them expectantly. Jughead felt flustered, straightening up his slouching posture over the chair he was leaning against while Betty folded her hands primly in front of her.

Alice looked to the pan she had lined with one of the crusts, then to her bowl of apples. “Now, I’ll let you two in on a little secret. I add a bit of pumpkin pie spice to the apples, that gives them a little extra kick, and then I use maple syrup to round it out.”

Jughead nodded, watching as she used the can of spice liberally on the apples. Alice had actually turned it upside down to get the last of it out. “There we go,” she piled the apples into the pan, topping them with the syrup. Jughead watched her fingers assemble the top crust.

He had decided that bakers were like artists. Or maybe akin to chemists, was a more apt term.

Next was the pumpkin pies. Jughead and Betty took the two remaining crusts and worked together to place them in their pie pans and _flute_ (he had learned when Alice explained that presentation was key) the edges.

When they were scooping pumpkin out of the cans, Betty begged him not to try a bite of the unsweetened stuff. But Jughead swiped a finger on the edge of the empty can and stuck it in his mouth anyway.

He made a face, wrinkling up his nose as he processed the taste on his tongue. “This just ruined my whole Thanksgiving.”

Betty howled with laughter and Alice rolled her eyes at him, taking the empty cans and cleaning up after them as they worked on the mixture. Now, sweetened condensed milk he could get behind.

“Alright, enough you two. Now, go grab some more pumpkin pie spice and finish this up while I go put together some snacks for lunch.”

Alice waved them towards the pantry in the hall before turning back to the fridge. A hand grabbed his wrist, pulling sharply as Betty all but sprinted (quietly, might he add — he was impressed) toward the walk in cupboard. He had no choice but to follow behind her, trying not to slide in his socks against the hardwood floor.

“Betty what’s blown up your skirt —”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence as his breath left his body when Betty shoved him up against the shelves in the back of the pantry, the items rattling precariously. With wide eyes he stared down at Betty who had her hands bunched up in the front of his sweater, pushing her whole body against him as she licked her lips.

“I’ve been wanting to kiss you so badly, Juggie,” her breath was hot against his neck, her words sending a shiver down his spine.

Jughead wasn’t sure how to respond except to grab her face between his hands and tilt her head up to him, their lips clashing roughly. Betty relaxed immediately, the tension melting out of her in a rush, her hands releasing their hold on his sweater and sliding down the front of his chest until her fingers were peeking under the edge of his sweater and toying with the waist of his jeans.

Betty’s mouth was gentle but demanding and Jughead wanted to grin against her lips. He settled for sliding a hand from her cheek into her hair, tugging on the blonde strands and tilting her head back for him. Her lips parted and he slid his tongue against hers, finding the sweetness from the marshmallows still there. Jughead couldn’t help the need to pull Betty further into him, eliminate all the space between them and be _closer closer closer_.

He groaned against her mouth, their kiss turning heated and sloppy as they fought against each other. Suddenly, Betty’s hands were _everywhere_ ; sliding up his chest, dancing across his sides, raking her blunt nails down his back — and then Jughead was kissing her _harder_ , _deeper_ , with more fervent need that went beyond a hasty makeout session in a kitchen pantry.

Betty was pushing herself up on her tip-toes, fighting the angle of their height difference and gripping onto his shoulders for dear life. Jughead encircled his arms around her waist, pulling her up as she all but melted into his arms. Their breathing was ragged as they parted for air, their lips finding their way back to each other in their desperation for intimacy.

He loved when Betty bit his lower lip, pulling it into her mouth and sucking gently, like she was doing now. Jughead squeezed her waist gently, a hum of appreciation as he leaned back.

Something must have fallen off the shelf, because it hit the floor with a sound that was deafening in the small room filled with their harsh panting breaths. They had sprung apart, looking toward the door, finding the entry empty.

Jughead let out a snort, bending forward and putting his hands on his knees as Betty bit her lip, righting the way her dress had rucked up.

“Well, that was… interesting,” her breathless tone made his fingers itch for her again.

“I’ll say. Who knew cooking would get you so hot? I would have tried that years ago —”

“Juggie,” Betty’s warned. Her stern tone and hands on her hips stopped the words in his throat. Jughead grinned at her though, because it didn’t make it any less true.

“We should probably get back to the kitchen, make sure you’re mom doesn’t have an aneurysm.”

Betty looked towards the shelf with the spices, eyes scanning for the item they needed. Jughead stepped towards her, almost tripping over something on the floor. Looking down, he rolled his eyes.

Jughead bent down to grab the can, “I found it. This is what we knocked off in the midst of our passionate tryst,” he shook the can of pumpkin pie spice at her. Betty grabbed it out of his hands, her cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink.

She was looking at the can, turning it over in her hands. Then she was looking up at him, coyishly, eyes glittering in the low light.

“To be continued.”

Following after her, he wondered just what that implication meant, a trail of heat disappearing underneath the collar of his sweater. Jughead was trying not to think about anything beyond what was appropriate for when Alice was standing a few feet away and Hal not much further in the living room.

Closing his eyes and steeling himself, he adopted his slouchy posture and shuffled up to where Betty was measuring out the spice for the pumpkin pies. Finishing up, they slid them and the apple pie into the oven.

Betty tugged him back toward the kitchen table to sit and glanced at him, a smile at the corner of her lips. She turned back to where Alice had set a plate of cheeses, meats, and crackers in front of them.

Hal came in and loaded up a plate stopping to ask Jughead if he’d ever carved a turkey before.

“No sir, I’ve never really had a Thanksgiving with which to do so.”

The room got quiet then, even Polly who had been yawning, coming in after putting the twins down in their playpen in the living room.

Jughead was starting to sweat, he wanted nothing more than to slink down in his seat and disappear.

Hal clapped him on the shoulder, “Well, son, I’d be happy to show you.”

“That’s great, Hal. Between you and Fred, I’m sure Jughead will go home with some new Thanksgiving traditions,” Alice added, her hand patting his other shoulder.

Suddenly Jughead felt like his ribs were constraining his lungs, tightening around them in a vice — it was getting hard to breathe.

Betty grabbed his hand under the table, lacing their fingers together, squeezing. She leaned into his shoulder and Jughead leaned into her a bit. Taking a few calming breaths, he wiped his free hand on the thigh of jeans.

Jughead managed a smile back, “Thanks Mr. Cooper.”

“So Fred is coming over this year?” Betty asked, her other hand a comforting pressure on his thigh.

“Yes, since Archie is going to the Lodge’s and he didn’t want to impose over there, so, I invited him to eat with us again this year.”

Last year was fuzzy around this time since he and Betty had been broken up for a while. It was right before Jughead started living with his foster family on the Southside when FP was awaiting his formal court trial. A time he didn’t like thinking about.

“Well, that sounds nice. We need someone to help eat all this food,” Polly mentioned, gesturing to the array of ingredients still yet to be assembled on the counter.

Alice had pulled the turkey out of the oven to peak at it. The smell making his stomach grumble, so Jughead reached out for a slice of cheese on the snack plate and nibbling on it.

He leant forward, his lips hovering by Betty’s ear. “This is some gouda cheese,” he whispered.

Her crack of laughter made the other three members of her family stare at them quizzically, but Jughead just grinned.

Morning faded to afternoon and Jughead learned a surprising number of things. About how to make sweet potato casserole, green bean casserole, _real_ mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, and deviled eggs. He mostly watched while Betty and Alice and occasionally Polly, did the cooking. Watching Betty make her cranberry relish was the best part, not because of the tart, sugary sweet smell and all the taste tests he got, but the look of concentration on her face and the way she would bite her lip when she was working.

Learning tidbits of Betty’s childhood was endearing, even though she kept complaining for her mom to stop talking. But Jughead was soaking it all in. He had heard some of the stories before, but he loved them all the same. His favorite was of Betty’s first ballet recital — the way Alice described Betty’s costume and her barely contained excitement only to falter onstage in fright. Polly had come out from backstage and danced with her sister through her part. They ended up getting a standing ovation, and thankfully Hal had the whole thing on video — Jughead would be seeking that out at some point.

Jughead did take a break from the kitchen to sit in the living room with the twins, Hal, and Fred who had come over early, pecan pie in hand. They tempted Jughead into a can of beer after a while and he sipped it warily, as if at any moment things were just going to swallow him up and ruin this perfect day.

Soon enough, (after almost 8 hours of cooking) they were setting the table with the Cooper’s special occasion fancy dinnerware set. Hal had called him into the kitchen afterwards and he handed him the electric knife, instructing Jughead in carving the turkey.

After a couple of tries, he got the hang of it. Fred was leaning against the counter, sipping another beer as he laid claim to big section of dark meat that Jughead had just cut. He felt Betty’s eyes on him from where she was carrying plates and bowls of the food they (okay, maybe not so much him, in particular) had slaved over all day. Once the platter was full, Hal stopped him, with plans to finish later.

Hal was separating parts of the turkey and spooning juice over the meat on the platter.

“You ever split the wishbone, Jughead?”

The question caught him off guard and he look to Fred, shaking his head. “Can’t say I have.”

Fred put down his beer and searched the turkey before producing a bone kind of shaped like a Y.

“So, two people grab each end,” he motioned for Jughead to grab the other side of the bone, and when he did, Fred continued, “and you each pull, after making a wish. Whoever gets the bigger piece is the one whose wish is granted.”

“Really? Seems like kind of a strange thing.”

“People have been doing it forever. Trust me, this is better than how they did it in the beginning. So, make your wish.”

Jughead thought this was kind of silly, as he didn’t believe in turkey bones having magical wish granting powers, but, he would humor Fred.

Thinking about what he wanted was kind of hard. There were so many things he could wish for. Deciding to be realistic and not completely selfish, a thought formed on the tip of his tongue. He murmured the words under his breath, locking eyes with Fred as the man nodded at him.

They each pulled on the bone, the _snap_ coming quickly.

“Congrats, Jughead, you won your first wishbone,” Hal had clapped him on the shoulder and Jughead gave a little laugh.

Looking up to Fred, he shrugged his shoulders, “Beginners luck?”  

“Just you wait till next year,” Fred pointed his small portion of bone at him, the smile on his face betraying his serious tone.

They laughed, all of them taking turns washing their hands at the sink before filing into the dining room with the last of the food.

Jughead was seated next to Betty, with Alice to his right, one the twins between them at the corner of the table. He glanced across to Fred who smiled at him.

“Alright, Hal, if you would say grace,” Alice gestured to the table, everyone turning to him.

“Right, everyone join hands.”

Jughead hesitated for a moment, but Betty’s hand slipped into his left one and Alice was holding her hand out expectantly toward him. He slipped his hand into the older woman’s, her smile a small comfort and her squeeze even moreso.

“As we bow our heads to pray, we give thanks on this day. From blessings small and big, for our families, and for our friends. We thank you for this wonderful day, for the food before us, and for this time we spend together. Let us not forget those who cannot be here with us today. We give our thanks for those in our hearts and the time we spent with them; and for those not as fortunate on this day. Amen.”

There was a chorus of “amen” and then a small round of applause as Hal looked proud before he rubbed his hands together, “Let’s eat.”

And eat they did.

Jughead was full before they even brought dessert out, but of course he had a small piece of each kind of pie. Three, there were _three_ pies. Plus several types of cookies Alice had baked the day before.

Everyone was full of turkey. Polly had taken the twins upstairs to nap, with Hal and Fred following their example in the living room. Hal reclined in his chair and Fred stretched out on the couch. The football game on tv had just reached half-time, but the two men didn’t notice as they were both snoring.

Betty and Jughead had helped Alice clear the dining table, but then she was shooing them out.

“Go and nap like the others, watch tv, do something else. You two have been a big help today, you can take a break now.”

Betty had turned to Jughead, taking his hand in hers and pulling him from the kitchen without another word. Jughead barely had time to grab the sugar cookie he had been eyeing from the platter before they were running up the stairs.

They found themselves in Betty’s room. Jughead walked over to her bed, laying back on the pink floral bedspread he was rather familiar with. Hearing the lock on her door click into place had him struggling to swallow the last of his sugar cookie.

“Juggie…”

He had nervously swallowed several more times, the look she was fixing him with as she stalked from the door to the bed was making him nervous. Especially since her parents along with Fred were downstairs, while  Polly and the twins were in the next room over.

“Betty…” Jughead mimicked her, voice not sounding nearly as confident as he would have liked.

“I’d like to continue from where we left off earlier,” her voice was pleasant and airy as she stepped between his legs. Her hands gripped his shoulders, sliding up to his neck. Betty knocked his beanie from his head, her fingers threading through his hair as she tilted his head back, forcing him to look up at her.

Jughead watched her green eyes tracking his face, the way she bit her lip and the flush coloring her cheeks. She bent down, their lips coming together in a kiss that tasted like Thanksgiving felt.

Bringing his hands up to her hips, Jughead pulled Betty to his lap, guiding her legs to rest on either side of him. He was kissing the hollow under her jaw now, as her hands roamed his back. Jughead slipped his hands under the lace of her dress, ghosting up her thighs until he had reached the edges of her underwear.

Stilling as Betty leant her cheek against his head, he wanted to laugh at the soft sound she just made.

“Did you just yawn?”

“Hmm, maybe?” her voice was sounding sleepy and soft, like it did when he knew she was tired. Rolling his eyes, Jughead pulled back from her, hands moving to her waist as he pulled her to sit in his lap.

“You wanna take a nap?” Jughead asked, watching as her eyes fluttered before closing fully, her head dipping into a nod.

“Alright, let’s lie down, baby.”

Scooting back against the bed, Jughead arranged them against her headboard. Betty’s head falling into his lap as she curled her legs up and murmured for him to play with her hair. Chuckling, he did as she asked (demanded, albeit sweetly).

Jughead supposed if he had to conjure a patronus charm he would think of this memory, of this day.

With Betty’s head in his lap as he leaned against her headboard, their eyes closed. He ran his fingers through her blonde hair, the curl having fallen out hours ago, leaving just subtle waves which his fingers glided through like silk. Betty’s soft hum of appreciation as she nuzzled her nose against his jean covered thigh, like music to his ears. Jughead couldn’t see her expression, with her turned body away from him, but he knew the soft, sleepy smile he loved was dancing across her face.

It had been a good day — a great day. Jughead would always remember the warmth that filled his heart, spilling out and onto his face as Betty and Alice grabbed one of his hands in theirs and they said grace before their meal. The food was great, but it wasn’t what he was thankful for.

Jughead was thankful for lots of things this year, but most of all, he was thankful to have Betty. She was the light of his life, leading him from a path of darkness he had been destined to follow.  

As long as he had her, he would have a home; and that was exactly what he had wished when he snapped the wishbone.  


 

_fin_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Writing a Chrismas fic in a few weeks!! :)
> 
> Let's be pals on tumblr? [@lilibug--xx](https://lilibug--xx.tumblr.com)


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